Jack and Joy

On the theme of 'Regulars'......
-Statistically, this couple would easily win the prize for "most frequent diners" at the Hillcrest during my tenure, but that doesn't mean that they will get proportional attention on this here blog. Why? Because I didn't really like them. They weren't that particularly interesting, and being interesting to someone (hopefully me) is definitely a theme here. I'm not doing this to write about boring, or pathetically predictable people. I have nothing against them. They were always a good tip, but....well.
-Jack and Joy Dursch. I'm pretty sure about the names and spelling there. He has to be dead by now, and I would assume the same for her. His liver may be in a display case somewhere. She is probably applying lipstick at the moment, in her coffin.
-He was a drunk. VO and water. A classic booze hound's cocktail. Let's face it, it's basically whiskey on the rocks. It's funny, as I write this, I'm struggling to paint a decent picture of them. Much more than I have for other characters in this blog. I guess that speaks more about them than anything else.
-When I think of the John Birch Society (do they exist anymore), I picture guys like Jack. Or even better, Jack Klompas from Seinfeld (aka Morty Seinfeld's buddy at the condo in Florida, Del Boca Vista). Old, retiried, golf players. Souped up Cadillacs. He definitely was well off, but not sophisticated, and not very tasteful. Big fish in a small pond type of guy. Let's face it, if you rolled into the Hillcrest with a C-note, you looked like Dean Martin.
-His wife was equally predictable. I can't remember her saying two fucking words. She would just sit there and look annoyed, and maybe have 5 or 6 bites of food during the meal. She couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds.
-So he would roll in, in the Caddy, and park it as his usual table. Regardless of the time of day, the guy was front loaded. He had already had a snootful.
-The VO's would start coming. He'd order off the menu. Uber-rare Prime Rib on a painfully hot platter. Over the course of the meal, his drunken chortle would increase in volume. His white hair seemed to become more white against his increasingly red face.
-Seriously, that's about it. Of all the times I waited on him, I can't remember him saying anything that interested me, even once. He often bought the house a round. Front and back of the house. Which is commendable, but that's about it.
-The ending is worth recalling (hint: the whole point of this post). His dining days at the Hillcrest came to a dramatic end. Keep in mind, this guy, and his old lady, averaged about 4 meals a week there. He had been getting increasingly more smashed with each visit. There was even talk of cutting him off once. Well, that bridge never had to be crossed, because he got caught bringing in his own booze. Now, I'm not talking about a hipper flask in the men's room, or smuggling in mini bottles. If memory serves, he stashed a fifth of VO in Joy's purse, and pulled it out at the table. That was it. Dick made his point, and we never saw these humps again.